


Hiding Behind Costumes, Revealing Everything

by AtoTheBean



Series: Dangerous Potential [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: BDSM, Community: MI6 Cafe | mi6_cafe, Halloween Costumes, M/M, MI6 Cafe Occult October Challenge, sp00qy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-01-15 06:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21248621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtoTheBean/pseuds/AtoTheBean
Summary: “Going out for tricks or treats?” Eve asks with a sly grin.James winks at her.  “With any luck, a bit of both.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to have this finished before I started posting, but that just didn't happen... though I do have the next chapter written. And it's going to bleed into a bit of November. Obviously.
> 
> And it has essentially no plot. But it might end up being the first of a series, and the series will have a plot. Maybe.
> 
> Nonetheless, here we go! And thank you to @Dart for betaing!

Cheers echo off the rounded walls of the old bunker, mingling with the clicks of Bond’s steps as he approaches. He hears metal scrape, a crash, the crowd gasp and groan before breaking into smattered applause. When he clears the doorway, the cacophony brightens, no longer cast down the long hallway. And the sight that greets him matches the sound.

The Minions are in rare form. All in costume, all focused on a plexiglass dome set up in the middle of the room. Inside, a robotic “sweep” is clearing the rubble of the last fight as another pair of Minions approach with their Halloween-themed robots, ready to face off. Judging from the amount of metal scrap being cleared from the dome floor, the fights are to the death. And the plexiglass is preventing flying shrapnel from injuring the onlookers.

“You’re late,” Moneypenny comments as he approaches. “You missed ‘Toothed Terror’ versus ‘Ghost in the Machine’.”

“Let me guess: ‘Toothed Terror’ won.”

“No, actually. Too much collateral damage. Q has this set up for stealth, not destruction. There are numerous ‘observer bots’ and obstacles in the pen that aren’t meant to be touched. The programming has to be able to recognize friend from foe, and attack accordingly.”

“_Less of a random killing machine, more of a personal statement_,” James murmurs.

“What?”

“Nothing. So they aren’t controlled by the Minions as we watch?”

“Nope. It’s all programming. Q gave them the challenge a month ago, with the rule they had to work on it on their own time. But bits of code from the winners might end up in actual prototypes.”

“Fostering innovation,” Bond comments, his gaze searching for the head boffin. He finds him by a computer station near the pen, glancing up at a large monitor displaying the scores so far and the names of the next bots to enter the pen. He’s dressed in a suit… actually, no. He’s dressed as the 10th Doctor, the brown pinstripe suit fitting him more snuggly than most of the office-wear Q favors. He looks svelte and oddly chic, despite the cardboard 3-D glasses apparently attached to his usual specs. When the new bots are loaded, Q points a “sonic screwdriver” at the door to the dome, and it swings shut and locks. Bond laughs out loud.

“Not one for half-measures, is he?” Bond asks of Moneypenny.

“Not our Q,” she agrees with a smile.

They watch on as one of the bots starts a search pattern while the second is still. Q checks his computer.

“Malfunction, do you think?” Eve asks.

James shrugs. What does he know about such things? But he suspects it’s a difference in strategy. Sure enough, as contestant 1 navigates the obstacles in the pen, it accidentally touches an observing bot, earning a demerit. The crowd is practically holding its breath. When the bot finally rounds the corner and comes into the view of its opponent, the second bot lights up, lunges, and makes a kill shot.

The crowd goes wild. At least as loud as any sporting event James has ever attended, though the sound ricocheting off of concrete walls may be amplifying it.

“We have our winner,” Q announces as the board lights up. “‘Ambush Predator’ could teach our agents something about stealth, I think.” Bond snorts. “Here’s your prize,” Q adds, holding up an envelope as Rajan approaches, grinning like a madman. “I suspect your dark-mode code may come in handy for surveillance prototypes.” Applause erupts as Rajan takes the winnings and thrusts his arms up in the air. Q waits for it to calm before continuing. “And that’s this year’s Roboctober! Thank you Q Branchers! Please sign out if you’re off duty. If you’re returning to duty, check in with R for assignments.”

The crowd starts to disperse, chattering along happily and comparing war stories. James watches on as Q receives congratulations for a well-run fest from M and several techs. He seems well pleased, and very much in his element, despite the costume. As usual, he’s leading his team toward excellence with a combination of challenges, fun, and faith in their abilities. It’s little wonder that Q Branch has the best morale in the agency.

“A group of us are heading over to Nico’s for a drink,” Eve says. “They’re featuring spooky cocktails, discounted for those in costume. Whatcha say?”

James wonders idly if Q will be there. But it doesn’t actually matter.

“Sorry, Miss Moneypenny. I’m afraid I have a previous engagement.”

“Going out for tricks or treats?” Eve asks with a sly grin.

He winks at her. “With any luck, a bit of both.”

* * *

Club Subversive is one of the premier fetish clubs in London. Members only. Highly vetted. Bond goes when he can, finds a willing sub for an evening and takes control — because he has little enough of that in his real life.

But finding random subs becomes dissatisfying after a while. There’s a sameness. An anonymity that seemed a relief at first, but becomes… well, not what he needs. But tonight is special. A singles-only costume party, specifically geared to people who no longer wish to be single. At least so far as a BDSM partner is concerned. Not that Bond is able to offer much, but there are probably others like him, who aren’t available full time but would appreciate some sort of consistency. The club even has standard one-month contracts ready, for those who feel they’ve gotten lucky by the end of the night.

James enters the dark, music-filled venue, straightening his Phantom of the Opera mask, and immediately feels underdressed. Most of the patrons have gone all out. The Dominants are generally well covered. There are at least three Domme Cat Woman costumes, one Maleficent with impressive horns, quite a few devils of both sexes, and generally intimidating black-on-black outfits that could be pirates or Matrix fighters or bandits, depending on the masks. That’s the route he took, black silky shirt and vest with slim slacks. Form-fitting enough to show off his physique but flexible enough that he can still swing a flogger, should he need to.

The subs are generally more scantily dressed. There are, of course, the obligatory school girls, harem girls (and boys) bedecked in sheer fabrics and jeweled chains, but there are also cats with actual butt-plug tails, fae creatures covered in glitter and well-positioned gems, and a marvelous painted Dia de Los Muertos style skull and ribcage, disappearing beneath lace and strategically placed roses. Countless women have painted-on lacy masks and actual corsets so tight they may as well be painted on.

He appreciates all of the artistry, and can’t deny that they’re alluring, but he’s given this some thought; if he’s going to have a regular submissive, he’d prefer a man. He scans the room, noting that a lot of the male subs are also dressed in lace and jewels. Some are even in heels. Which is fine, he thinks, adjusting the many rubber bracelets wrapped around his right wrist. One of the more fae looking ones is even a bit tempting. That is, until James glances at the colored bands around _his_ wrist: in addition to the usual bondage and impact colors, the colors for humiliation, watersports, and daddy kink are clearly visible. James moves on.

He makes his way through the crowd, nodding at a few Doms he recognizes. He wants to get a better lay of the land before settling anywhere, and he wants a drink to sip on as he takes it all in. The alcoves around the room are still dark and empty — it’s early still — but the small stage has a number of chairs on it. The bar is against the far wall and _at_ the bar… well, that _is_ tempting. A male sub in fishnet stockings and DocMarten boots is chatting with the barkeep, his satin shorts ending barely below a finely shaped arse and a few inches above the top of the stockings. If he were bent over a table, his arse would definitely peek out. Bond’s hand itches for a cane. The sub is shirtless, but wearing numerous straps that cross his chest and back, drop past a narrow waist, and disappear beneath the shorts. He turns his head slightly, laughing, and James catches a glimpse of dark red lips and heavy eyeshadow, and he realizes the man is dressed as the Emcee from Cabaret, except instead of suspenders that make an allusion to a bondage harness, he’s wearing an _actual_ bondage harness.

James licks his lips and crosses the room as if he were on mission, target acquired, ready to charm the pants off him. Literally. He approaches from behind, admiring that arse as he gets closer, unable to hear the man over the music. James settles in next to him and idly examines the bar menu while he waits for the conversation to finish.

Sensing his presence, the sub turns to greet him and freezes. James is met by a pair of wide eyes.

Very green, very bold, very wide eyes.

“_Q?_”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to @dart for hand-holding and betaing. Hope you are all enjoying the 32nd of October... 
> 
> If you'll recall, we left off with
> 
> "Q?"

“Don’t call me that here,” Q hisses looking around anxiously. And he’s right. He’s _not_ Q here. Even if he weren’t powdered to make his skin even more luminous. Even if his eyelids weren’t painted blue and his lips dark blood red, this sensual, confident, seductive creature is _not_ his Quartermaster. But it may have been hiding beneath those cardis all along...

“Did you _follow_ me?” Q asks.

“No, of course not,” James whispers. “Calm down. Everything’s fine.”

“Everything is _not_ fine. What are you doing here? Is there a mission I’m unaware of?”

“In a manner of speaking,” James says, placing his right hand on the bar so Q can see the collection of rubber bracelets. Nodding at Q’s wrist, he adds, “I imagine we’re here for similar reasons. _Very_ similar, by the looks of it.” Because there’s no denying that the two collections of bands are largely complementary: same colors, Bond’s are just thicker to show that he’s a Dom. And where they don’t overlap, well, James is intrigued rather than concerned about the additions.

“You’re a member?” Q asks quietly, brows furrowed.

“I am. Have been for years, but I don’t come very regularly. I’d like to change that, if I can find someone compatible.”

Q looks at James’ wrist again, biting his lip. James can practically see him translating the meaning of the bands and calculating just how compatible they are, at least by this measure. He still seems off-balance, though. “I’m surprised you’d approach me. There are so many beautiful subs here.”

James nods and looks around the room, leaning his elbows against the bar. “There are… and I saw them. But then I saw you, or rather, I saw a sexy, male sub standing by the bar who seemed to be just what I was looking for. Realizing it’s _you_ only—”

“Complicates things?” Q asks.

“Opens up different possibilities,” he counters, glancing at his bracelets again. Turning back to Q, he asserts, “I’m very good at compartmentalizing. I can give orders in some situations, and take them in others.”

Q snorts a laugh. “You never take orders.”

“That’s not true,” James responds, mock hurt coloring his tone, though he can’t quite keep a straight face. He decides on a different tack. “Perhaps if you showed me how very well _you_ take instructions, I could learn by example.”

James is rewarded by a surprised gasp and a bit of heat in Q’s gaze. Mischief. And oh _yes_, this could be very good. James likes Q’s mischief at work. He enjoys baiting him and making him blush. But this is a much more appropriate venue. With luck, James will find out tonight how far Q’s blush goes down his chest. With a _lot_ of luck, he’ll get the privilege of showing the whole room.

The place is filling up, though it still feels as if it’s in early stages… the ‘polite introductions/first glass of wine’ phase of a normal party. There are a few people, mostly small groups of subs, starting to sway to the music. A few Doms and subs have already paired off for a drink, partaking in some suggestive touching over costumes or under skirts — the sort of thing that would get you tossed out of a different sort of bar but merely counts as flirting here. One sub dressed as an anime character Bond can’t quite place keeps dropping things and bending over, her short skirt hitching up enough to expose her bare arse. It’s a flirtatious, teasing, reveling sort of atmosphere. A prelude to the more overtly sexual and lascivious activities to come.

James turns back and realizes Q’s watching him observe the room, his wry little smile all the more visible with the dark lipstick. He’s about to say something when his attention is drawn over Bond’s shoulder. James turns just as a woman in a 1930’s style slip dress dances her way between them, long fingernails flashing an iridescent black that matches her fake eyelashes. She drapes herself back across the bar and says, “Doesn’t my body drive you wild with desire?”

Q just laughs and smirks at Bond, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Fortunately, James recently rewatched this film on an airplane. “Let me guess,” he says to Q across her body, “she’s Sally Bowles to your Emcee?”

Q grins, pleased that Bond recognizes them both. “She’s channeling the original film, and I’m using the stage revival, but yes. Exactly.”

‘Sally’ arches her back and says, “See? Nice and flat here,” she draws a finger across the silk covering her stomach, “But here…” She traces her finger around the outside of her breast, accentuating its roundness, and flutters her eyelashes, making Q laugh out loud.

“She’s not going to leave until one of us cops a feel of her breasts,” Q says conspiratorially. “I could do it, but I won’t get much out of it, I’m afraid.” Q nods to Bond to encourage him.

James shakes his head, chucking. “They’re lovely breasts,” he assures her, “but not what I’m after tonight.”

“Oh,” she says, standing up abruptly and moving behind Q. “Oh, that’s fine, darling. After all, my friend here is just _divine_, isn’t he? Nice and flat here,” she says, fingers brushing across Q’s abs, ”pleasingly round here,” she adds, both hands sliding down the back of Q’s shorts, “and here…” she continues, reaching a hand to the front of Q’s shorts.

“That’s quite enough from you,” Q says, intercepting the hand and pushing it away as he rolls his eyes.

“Don’t be cross, Kerr, darling, I just want to make sure that your friend here knows that this package,” she motions to all of Q, “comes with quite a lovely, um, _package_.” She winks at James as Q offers an exasperated sigh that sounds wonderfully familiar. “I’ll leave you to reel him in,” she whispers to Q, “but don’t get too distracted: you promised to help.”

“I’ll help as long as I don’t have to speak,” Q answers. “What time are we on?”

“In fifteen minutes, darling. I’ll come collect you.” She dances away, waving her fingers without looking back.

“Friend of yours?” James asks as they turn back to the bar.

Q nods. “As close as you can be when you don’t know each other’s true names, aren’t attracted to each other, but know exactly what the other sounds like when they come.”

James laughs.

“She’s outgoing, and I’m not, particularly,” Q admits. “Somehow, she adopted me, I think.”

“So where were we?” James asks, trying to remember what they were discussing before “Sally” intervened.

“I was about to ask you what your plan had been, before you realized I was me. When you thought you were approaching a stranger.”

“Why?” James asks, because surely this conversation is more interesting than that would have been.

Q shrugs. “Just wondering what I missed.”

“Well,” James says, deciding to pull up one of the barstools and actually take a seat. “I was going to start by assessing his reaction to me. If it was at all appreciative or interested, I was going to ask if I could buy him a drink.”

“I can see how my sputtering and accusations might have put you off that,” Q observes. “Pity.”

“I’m not put off,” Bond says quietly, leaning closer. “I’d be delighted to buy you a drink.” He motions for the barkeep’s attention, ordering a martini and motioning for Q to place his order.

“Manhattan, please. Extra cherries.”

James raises an eyebrow. “Why don’t you pull up a seat, Kerr,” James suggests, motioning to the stool behind him. “If I may call you that...”

“You may,” Q answers, pulling the stool over and taking his seat, a thick boot resting against the crossbar, stockings stretched across his knees. The harness is digging into his skin just a bit, and he shifts against it as if savoring the feel. Tilting his head almost coquettishly, he asks, “And what should I call you?”

“Oh, I think ‘Sir’ will do nicely,” James says, taking their drinks as the barkeep arrives and handing Q’s to him. “Let’s drink to… being multifaceted,” he settles on. They tip their glasses and take their first sips, maintaining eye contact the whole time. James feels something shift between them, just a bit. Perhaps it’s that Q has finally settled to the idea that Bond knows this about him. It’s always shocking when different parts of your life collide, but Q seems to have regained his composure. And he not running off. Not only that: Q takes the skewer of Morello cherries from his drink, bites gently on the first one — white teeth contrasting and lipstick perfectly matching the dark fruit — and slides it into his mouth. James watches as Q chews slowly and swallows.

“You _are_ going to be a handful,” he observes, lips quirking.

“In more ways than one, Sally would say.” He grins, but then his smile falters. He looks down, stirs his drink with the skewer of cherries, and says, “I’m curious.”

“About?” James asks.

“Have you ever thought of me like… well, not like this, perhaps,” he says, motioning to the room. “But at all? I didn’t think I was your type.”

James raises his glass to his lips. “Are you asking if I’ve ever had sexual fantasies about my department head? Because that doesn’t sound like a question I should answer. That sounds like the sort of thing that could get a person written up. Forced into sensitivity training.” He takes a sip as Q rolls his eyes. After a moment, though, he decides he’d best come clean. What he’s hoping for requires trust. And trust requires truth.

“From our first meeting, I noticed you have a very wide mouth,” James observes.

Q quirks an eyebrow.

“It makes a man wonder…”

“Does it, now?” Q asks, popping another cherry into his mouth. “That _is_ interesting.”

James chuckles and takes another sip of his drink. “Who knew you were such a minx under all those cardis? What about me? Have you ever thought about me sexually?”

Q snorts. “I’ve had to actually listen to you have sex multiple times. Of _course_, I went home and wanked to the thought of it afterward. I imagine the whole department does.”

That’s… he’s not sure how to feel about that.

“And have you ever imagined me like this?” James asks, gesturing to his Dom clothing.

Q bites his lip, and James has his answer. Good.

James leans back and takes another sip. “So tell me, Kerr. What do you look for in a Dom?”

Q looks down at his wrist, and then at James’. “Someone strong,” he answers. “Someone who doesn’t _have_ to pin me, but could. Someone creative… it’s amazing how frequently a new Dom just wants to bend me over something, tie me down, spank me and fuck me.”

Oops. “I have a confession to make,” James admits.

“What’s that?”

“When I first saw you in this costume, when I first realized what you would look like _bent over_… I wanted my cane.”

Q gasps a laugh, color rising in his cheeks. “Well, a cane already makes you more interesting than most. And I like a good spanking and fuck as the next man, but… well…”

“You have more than three bands on your wrist.”

“Precisely.” Q’s expression is practically prim, contrasting deliciously with what he just divulged and how he’s dressed.

James takes a sip of his drink. It’s interesting to see bits of his Q peeking through this very non-Q persona. Kerr. “What else?”

Q eats another cherry, thinking. “Someone who’s observant and a bit daring. Willing to push my boundaries, but aware enough to recognize if I’m not having fun and adjust accordingly. That’s hard though, in a club like this. A lot to expect from someone you don’t have a history with. Part of why I’m here tonight.”

James nods and takes another sip of his drink. He’s starting to feel the sensualness of the place. The music pulsing through the air, the lights illuminating Q’s cheekbones and lips, making shadows along his throat. The light in Q’s eyes. And as logical and dispassionate as Q’s responses are, the sexual undercurrent between them feels stronger.

“What about you? What do you want in a sub?” Q asks taking a sip and looking as if he’s afraid he’s said too much.

“Someone who’s honest about what he wants and needs,” James reassures, dropping a hand on Q’s knee. Q seems to settle at the touch, and that… that’s very good. “Someone adventurous. Someone who… who… I can be moody at times.” Q raises an eyebrow as if to say, ‘Who, you?’ James blunders on, sure this would all be going more smoothly if Q were an actual stranger, sad as that may be. “I need...I would _like_ someone who can read my mood and tell if I need them to be playfully challenging or accept a bit of rough handling or just... _mind_ me… accept my instructions.”

Something crosses Q’s expression that James can’t quite read. They both take another sip of their drinks as Q processes that answer. It’s probably too much. Q of all people knows _exactly_ how moody James can be. It’s hard to imagine anyone submitting to that. Movement in the corner of his eye draws his attention to where one of the school girls is being shackled to the wall, her hands over her head and her breasts pushed out, one of the older Doms handling them roughly as she moans. He looks back to Q, who’s already rolling his eyes at the trite scene. Their eyes meet, and something shifts again.

Q downs the rest of his drink and sets the glass on the bar.

“What sort of instructions?” he asks, turning his barstool toward James.

“Pardon?”

“You said sometimes you just needed a sub to accept your instructions. If you were testing someone new, what would you want them to do?”

“Hypothetically?”

Q shrugs.

“Are their hands free?”

Q holds his hands up. _Fucking hell_. Not so hypothetical after all. Q is offering him control. His cock twitches in response, and he knows exactly what he wants.

“Lean back into the chair, against the back.”

Q does, shifting his shoulders back and forth to find a comfortable position.

“Now clasp your hands behind your back, shoulders back, arms behind the chair back.” Q shifts into position, arching his back to reach, his chest pushing forward against the leather and various elastic straps of the harness. “That’s it. Now arse forward, to the edge of the seat. Yes, lovely.” James takes another sip of his martini, feeling the power settle into some deep place behind his navel as he looks Q over appreciatively. He loves this part. So far, nothing he’s asked has been overtly sexual. But that’s about to change. 

“Spread your legs.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 37th of October! Thanks to those of you who have commented, and to the lovely @dart for betaing and hand-holding!
> 
> You may recall we left off with James saying "Spread your legs."

Q’s breath hitches but he doesn’t hesitate. He spreads his knees and moves his feet to the bars on the sides of the stool. The stockings stretch across his lean thighs, pulling down just a tad to expose more creamy skin. The shorts have ridden up and barely cover the crease between his legs and groin. It all seems designed to draw attention to the growing bulge stretching Q’s shorts, and James appreciates the view, taking another sip and allowing his gaze to wander Q’s enticing form… skipping over the tight shorts to the straps crossing Q’s chest, which is visibly expanding against them with Q’s deepening breath… to the bowtie that James wishes were a collar, to the open blood-red lips, to Q’s eyes, dilated and shining and gazing steadily at James.

“Perfect,” James praises, setting his drink down and skimming his fingers over the stockings at each knee, up the inner thighs, watching in fascination as Q bites his lip and makes the faintest little whimper that goes straight to James’ cock. He draws his fingers further up Q’s thighs, enjoying the little sounds Q makes, tracing the skin along the hem of his shorts. Q’s thighs are hairless, and James isn’t sure if he shaved or if that’s his natural state — his chest is nearly devoid of hair, after all — but regardless, James likes the feel of silky skin against silky shorts, and the way Q presses ever so slightly into his touch. Their gazes are still locked as James’ hands slowly explore. James watches for any hesitation on Q’s part, but finds only desire and Q’s struggle to control himself: from doing what, James isn’t sure. He runs his hands over Q’s thighs with more confidence now, not so much exploring as laying claim — down to his knees, palms sliding back up along the tops of Q’s thighs, thumbs brushing along the inner thighs until they skim the hem of the shorts again, tantalizingly close to Q’s growing bulge.

This time, he slips his thumbs under the shorts, watching Q’s reaction.

“Please,” Q whispers.

Bloody hell, he likes that. Who knew Q could beg? He slides his thumbs further under the shorts, finding the smooth, shaved skin of Q’s bollocks.

Q pushes his legs further apart, encouragingly.

“You like that?” James asks, teasing the skin he finds.

“Yes, J— Sir.”

James nearly growls as he drags Q’s stool closer to him, hitches Q’s knees across his own thighs, spreads their legs. To Q’s credit, he keeps his hands clasped behind him and barely yelps at the sudden motion, and then makes the most delightful sound as James cups his balls with one large hand.

“You are the most delightful surprise I’ve had in a long time,” James comments as Q mewls. They are close enough that James can fondle Q’s bollocks with one hand and trace the leather straps spanning his chest with the other, possessively exploring Q’s body.

The more James touches him, the more Q seems to open himself for exploration: chest open, legs open, expression open. His eyes drift nearly shut, though, as James drops a hand to his cock, tracing the long line of it with one hand while the other continues to tease his bollocks. Q is breathing heavily now watching James through his lashes, a bit lost in arousal and pleasure.

Then James remembers the blue bracelet on Q’s wrist, and experimentally squeezes his bollocks a bit tighter than most would like.

Q’s eyes fly open with a gasp. He stares at James in near disbelief for a second and then lets out a long, wanton groan, his cock twitching in James’ hand.

“Just delightful,” James repeats, ideas entering his mind almost faster than he can formulate them into plans.

“You boys _have_ gotten busy,” Sally says as she approaches. She stands behind Q and mouths to James, “Told you,” looking down at where James is stroking Q’s cock.

James smirks and decides he likes her… the cheeky little thing.

“Go away, Sally. Things are getting interesting,” Q insists.

“You promised you’d help,” she pouts, even as she admires Q’s splayed form. “He’s got you well sorted already… oh, but does he know about this?” She slips a long fingernail under one of the elastic straps in the harness and snaps it back against Q’s nipple, smirking. Q’s cock jumps against James’ hand as he swears. Then he groans and leans his head back, biting his lip. And that’s… James likes that very much.

“I promise I’ll only keep you away for a few minutes,” Sally bargains. “And I bet your friend will like the show, especially now that he’s made you look even more deliciously lewd in your costume. Just think of how the dance will look with all _that_ on display,” she adds, motioning to the long line of Q’s cock clearly discernible beneath the black satin shorts. “I’m going to collect Simon, but he’s not as flexible as you. Now, be a dear.”

And with that, she dances off again.

Q sighs, and James is pleased that he doesn’t seem to want to leave and that he hasn’t unclasped his hands. Still, James is intrigued by whatever Sally is talking about. And the new discovery.

“You have sensitive nipples,” he deduces.

“I do,” Q admits, straightening his head to look at James.

“And you promised Sally a first dance.”

“I did, though I think you rather jumped the line.”

James grins, squeezing Q’s cock.

“Well, you shouldn’t keep a lady waiting. Hands on my shoulders,” James commands, and though it seems to take Q a moment to understand, he immediately straightens up and leans forward to place his hands on James’ shoulders.

James grabs his arse and pulls him up to straddle his lap, their erections grazing each other.

Q gasps. “Hmmm. A tad possessive.”

“I can be,” James agrees. “What exactly did you promise her?”

“Just five minutes. And a bit of an exhibition.”

“Oh? A striptease?”

“No, I prefer to be undressed by others. You’ll have to see. But… it’s designed to be enticing. By the time it’s over, there’s a good chance other Doms will have their eyes on me.”

James doesn’t like the sound of that. He tightens his grip on Q’s arse and raises an eyebrow.

“It won’t matter though,” Q assures. “I’m going to come straight back here — straight back to _you _— on the assumption that you won’t bore me.”

James grins and grasps Q’s right wrist, considering the plethora of colors there. “Not a problem,” he asserts. “Tell me, does this support your weight or is it just decorative?” he asks, tugging on one of the D-rings on the harness, pulling Q forward.

“Oh, god… ah… not comfortably, but yes, it can. It’s _mostly_ decorative, but for short bits of time, it will hold.”

“Interesting. Well, off you go.”

He releases a startled Q and swats him on the arse, watching as he regains his footing and makes his way up to the stage. With the promise that Q will return — and the challenge to not _bore_ him, cheeky shit — James texts the concierge. He reserves one of the alcoves with suspension equipment, has his bag delivered to it, and purchases a few additional items from the shop — things he didn’t bring from home but now wants to use. It will be worth the extra charges on his tab to have them available. As he finishes up, the electronic dance music is turned down and a spotlight focuses on Sally standing at the front of the stage, a collection of other subs behind her. She strikes a pose, hand up, hip out, and it begins.

She’s a damned good singer, it turns out, belting out the Cabaret song ‘Mein Herr’, but changing the words to ‘Mien Dom’, and detailing various options for play. It’s funny and suggestive — just the sort of thing to get the party going if it hadn’t already been going so well, for Bond at least. The other subs are… well, _dancing_ might be a generous word for what they’re doing, but what it lacks in precision it makes up for in enthusiasm and demonstration of talent, or at least assets. Q’s erection definitely getting attention, and he’s not the only one suffering from that condition. He draws added attention for his flexibility, however, the combination of having a sizeable hard-on and lying back on a chair and pulling his legs into splits has several of the other Doms pointing at him with interest and James adjusting himself in his pants. During the final crescendo of the song, Q and several of the women turn their backs to the audience and bend over, arses high in the air, waving at the audience from between their legs, and then abruptly drop into the splits.

The applause is wild, and for a moment, James can’t see Q with all the people that have rushed the stage. After a few minutes, concern gnaws at him that perhaps Q _did_ find a better offer… but then Q breaks out of the crowd, breathing heavily and even more aroused than when James sent him off. He marches straight forward and looks like he might fling himself at James — which would be fine if a bit against submissive decorum. He stops mere inches away, nearly vibrating with arousal, and looks up at James with some need in his expression that James can only hope he’s ready to satisfy.

James is dearly looking forward to trying. When was the last time he had a challenge? He wraps an arm around Q, grabbing a handful of arse, and says, “Our alcove awaits.”

“Thank _bloody_ fuck,” Q mutters urgently, adding “Yes, Sir,” loudly enough for everyone around them to hear. And with that Q accompanies him most willingly, and James can feel the gaze of envious Doms all around.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, MANY thanks to @Dart for helping me revise this chapter. It's a long one (for this fic anyway)... hopefully it's in a good place and you find it, ehem, 'satisfying'...
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!

The alcoves are a few steps up from the main floor, each with an arched entrance, individualized lighting, and a privacy curtain. Some contain specific items — a St. Andrews’ Cross or a spanking bench. James leads Q to one of the larger ones, where an impressive motorized pulley system allows for fairly straight-forward impromptu suspension. Without it, a fair amount of prep work can be necessary. He doesn’t think either he or Q have much patience for that…

Q is nearly vibrating with need. Not nerves, James thinks. He doesn’t seem apprehensive at all but anticipating. Too much energy and no outlet for it. James will have to settle him before they get started. James leaves the lights in the alcove off for now. He stands Q under the main pulley, facing the room, and tells him to stay. He’s back a moment later with several items from his bag.

“Hands,” James demands, and Q holds out his wrists without hesitation. James pushes the bracelets up Q’s arm to get them out of the way and fastens a thick leather cuff around Q’s right wrist. It’s padded and lined with soft fabric that will allow Q to pull against it without damaging his skin.

“How do you feel?” he asks, checking that it’s tight enough to not slip, but loose enough that it won’t cut off circulation.

“It feels fine.”

James freezes.

“What?” Q asks, abruptly focused on James’ face.

“I asked ‘how do _you_ feel?’” James explains, pausing for a moment before picking up the next cuff.

“Oh, sorry! I’m fine. I feel… well, my mind’s going a mile a minute, but that…” He shakes his head slightly.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” James asks, fastening the second cuff. “It’s important that your head is in the right space. We’re not strangers. I wouldn’t want to—”

“Yes! Please… I want this.” Q’s eyes are wide… alarmed. “I’ll be better... Sir. Pay closer attention…”

James holds the D rings for Q’s cuffs in one hand and cups Q’s cheeks with the other, covering Q’s lips with his thumb. Q quiets.

“Shhh. Okay… You’re fine.” James watches him for a long moment, waiting as Q takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders back… centers himself. “How would you feel about wearing a collar?”

Q’s brows furrow. “That would depend on its significance. What meaning you intend for it.” His words are cautious like he’s experienced misunderstandings before.

“That you’re mine for the evening. I get to take my time. You won’t be looking for who you’ll go to next, and neither will I.” James strokes his cheek. “Any longer-term arrangements will be negotiated at a later date when we’ve each had a chance to consider tonight’s activities with a clear head.”

Q bites his lip, thinking for a moment. “Okay,” he agrees.

James raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, Sir,” Q corrects.

James assesses him for a moment. If this is a mistake, it could be _very_ ba—

“_Please_, Sir.”

After another moment, James nods and walks over to his bag. James is sure it’s the right choice as soon as he fastens it, Q’s watchful eyes slipping shut for a moment as the thick leather tightens around his throat. It’s like magic. Q is settled, focused on James, and still so curious.

“Better,” James comments. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, aware of the eyes on him from the room as well. He can hear chairs being dragged into position, people settling in to watch. He’s blocking their view of Q at the moment, but that’s about to change. James takes hold of Q’s wrist and weaves his pinky finger under six of the colored bands, selecting among Q’s kinks and raising an eyebrow, asking for permission.

Q nods with enthusiasm. “Yes, Sir.”

“Standard colors for safewords,” James orders. “With one exception: don’t use ‘amber’ if you’re just getting close. Say ‘close’, and I’ll decide what to do about it. Save ‘amber’ for when I’m starting down a path you don’t want to go down.”

“Yes, Sir.”

God, he likes that. He _really _likes that. He attaches the wrist cuffs to a cable dangling from the pulley system and presses the button to raise it.

Q’s expression changes as his arms are drawn inexorably over his head. Arousal and submission and something calm. Something expectant.

James goes to his bag, pulling items out and organizing his equipment on a cart provided by the management — cables, tension fasteners, more cuffs, a plastic hardcase — and then picks up the two items he’ll use first. He turns on the light in the alcove, illuminating Q’s bound form and drawing the attention of the room. Then he turns to face Q, a crop in one hand and a flogger in the other.

His eyes widen, but he nods and says, “Green.”

James just circles him for a moment, enjoying the anticipation. He drags the crop along Q’s skin as he orbits the man, watching as Q arches into the touch, feeling the tension between them build… the anticipation of the audience build... and then as everyone seems to be holding their breath, he snaps the crop against Q’s nipple.

Q’s reaction is perfect: an arch and keening cry, a tug against his restraints that makes James’ cock twitch. He follows it with a strike of the flogger that wraps around Q’s hip and cracks against his arse. He alternates as he circles Q, between the stinging, surficial strikes of the crop and the deeper caresses of the flogger, until Q is warmed up, his skin pink and his breath heavy. The last two strikes of the flogger across his arse have him arching back and panting. James steps up behind him and can practically feel the heat coming off his skin, even through the satin shorts.

“You’re so _fucking_ lovely,” he whispers into Q’s ear, pressing his erection against Q’s arse so he has no doubt what this is doing to James. “Color.”

“Green,” Q moans, leaning his head back against James' shoulder as the room watches on.

“Good,” he says, reaching around Q’s body to stroke his cock through the shorts. “I want to take these off.”

“Green,” Q says promptly, pushing into James’ hand. “Sir.”

James sets his tools on the cart and wraps both arms around Q from behind, unbuttoning the shorts and shimmying them down over Q’s erection. They slide down his legs, and Q kicks them aside.

“Much better,” James whispers into Q’s ear as he palms Q’s bare cock possessively. “Hmmm. Sally was right.” Q huffs a small laugh through his appreciative groan. “Legs apart,” James commands, and god, the feeling as Q obeys. It’s intoxicating. James looks out across the crowd, giving Q’s cock one last squeeze before retreating to the cart for more supplies. He’s back a moment later, two thigh cuffs in hand. He fastens each one and links it to the harness with a carabiner. They should help distribute Q’s weight better than the thin straps of the harness. He also straps ankle cuffs over Q’s boots. They won’t need to support much weight, but now that James knows just how flexible Q is, he wants to take advantage of it. Also, those boots are heavy; best to keep them under control and out of the way.

James takes two spreader bars from the cart and attaches them to the suspension hooks. The bars each have several loops to attach restraints, and James resecures Q’s wrists to the center loop of the first bar and then runs a series of cables from the harness around his chest to the other loops. To the second spreader bar, he runs cables from the thigh cuffs and lower portions of the harness, until all but the last loops on each end are used. Q is patient through this process, licking his lips as he watches, those bright eyes curious and assessing. The crowd in the room also checks on their progress periodically, but there are other alcoves starting to be used, so their attention is split. Which is fine… it gives James time to do this properly without feeling any pressure for anything but keeping Q safe.

James tests every attachment, adjusts the lengths of the cables using the pressure crimps, and when he’s satisfied, presses the buttons on the dangling control panel to raise the hooks.

Q is slowly lifted off the ground, groaning as the toes of his boots lose contact and he’s completely suspended, dangling like a marionette, arms overhead, knees spread wide, the presence of the heavy boots and fishnet stockings only drawing attention to the bare skin of his upper thighs, focusing attention on his long, erect cock, framed by a short thatch of curls above and bare bollocks below. He makes a pretty picture, James thinks as he circles the swinging form, adjusting his own cock as he eyes Q.

“Color?” he asks as he retrieves some flexible cord.

“Green. Definitely green,” Q says, arching against the leather. “Sir.”

God, he likes that. James ties a knot around the D-ring of an ankle cuff and threads the other end through the last loop on the spreader bar supporting Q’s arse. He pulls the cord tight, until Q’s ankle is raised nearly to the height of his arse, straightening his knee, but not putting pressure on it, and then secures it with a pressure crimp. He repeats the process on the other side, and admires the view: Q suspended in the splits, hands high overhead. It looks like an impossible pose. How on earth Q got to be so flexible James has no idea, but he’s _very_ appreciative. Q looks fucking amazing.

“And now?” James asks softly, checking the cables and straps to make sure everything is tight but not binding.

“God, it’s… so green. This is… the most erotic I’ve felt in a very long time. Sir.”

“Your little dance gave me the idea. You’ll have to thank Sally.” He steps behind Q, pushing his erection against Q’s bare arse, and reaches around to trace his fingers from the thigh cuffs across the tops of Q’s stockings, to the bare skin of his bollocks. The room starts to pay closer attention as Q groans and lets his head fall back onto James’ shoulder. God, James likes that, too. Likes the way Q surrenders. Likes the way the leather creaks as he moves against his restraints, swinging slightly from the ceiling. Likes the way Q’s voice goes soft when James is close. Like he’s aware of the audience, but his words are only for James.

“I feel so… exposed,” Q adds, words breathy against James’ cheek.

“You are,” James confirms, fingers wandering Q’s balls and cock. He steps back a bit so he can get one hand on Q’s arse while the other continues to explore his cock. His hands can easily meet in the middle, between Q’s balls and his opening. He has access to everything. “There’s so much room that if I were in a mood to share, I could probably have four people kneeling under you with their mouths exploring _everywhere_.”

Q’s cock jumps in James’ hand.

“I’m not in the mood to share, though,” James continues. “I want to learn everything about you, and that means every touch will be mine.” He brushes Q’s opening as he says it, giving the ‘mine’ another meaning.

“Green,” Q whimpers, squirming in his restraints as if to push into James’ hand. “And I’m… I’m clean.”

James freezes.

“I don’t mean… medically — though I _am_.” James resumes stroking Q’s cock lightly. “I mean — oh god, that’s nice — I mean…” Q’s mouth opens and closes, unable to find his words.

“Breathe,” James commands softly, taking his hand off Q’s cock and spreading it across Q’s belly, pulling him close. His other hand cards through Q’s hair and strokes his cheek, pleased when Q turns his face toward James’ cheek. There’s an intimacy to it, despite the audience looking on. “Now, explain what you mean” James whispers.

Q takes several breaths before whispering, “When I prepped for tonight.. Showering… I was _thorough_. You pointed at the bracelet for toys, and I just want you to know that if you… if you want to test my limits… there are no impediments.”

James smiles and kisses Q’s temple, moving his hand back to Q’s cock. “I’d already planned to test your limits,” he responds, pressing at Q’s entrance and noting the residue of lube. “I’m very curious about what you can take. Have you already stretched yourself?”

“Just a bit,” Q admits. “Not all Doms… they aren’t all courteous, and while I enjoy certain types of pain…”

“Understood,” James says, momentarily furious with whomever had hurt Q with their lack of attention. “Don’t worry, I plan on working you over _very_ thoroughly.”

And he does. He takes a hard case from the cart and snaps it open. Arranged inside are his favorite anal toys, ordered from small to large, and a brand new bottle of lube. James holds the first one up for the audience for their approval and then gets to work.

Or to _play_, as it were.

Q reacts beautifully. Each new toy is a greater challenge. James works it in slowly, a hand on Q’s cock to ease the burn of the stretch. And everytime, through the keening and writhing, Q takes it in without complaint. No, not just that. With relish. Eyes closed, lips open, panting and gasping, his stomach tightening and rippling and he rocks against the air, trying to help each toy in.

He’s bloody mesmerizing, a sheen of sweat accentuating every movement of muscle as he labors in reverse. Labors to takes something in. The last toy slips home — Q’s arse finally stretching over the widest part and closing around the narrower neck, a flat flange nestled against his entrance to make the toy retrievable — and Q shudders and sighs and turns his head back to look at James, weary but clearly pleased with himself, and hoping he’s pleased James.

“So fucking gorgeous,” James praises, tapping on the base of the toy and sending a ripple of sensation though Q. “How do you feel?”

“Full, Sir. God, so _bloody_ full. I need… I need—”

“What do you need, pet?” James asks, carding his fingers through Q’s damp curls. He wants to pull him into a rough kiss, but he’s not sure he’d stop if he started.

“I don’t know,” Q cries, rocking against the air. He’s hard. Even with the work of getting that last toy in, his erection never flagged.

“Shhh. So good for me.” He runs his hand over Q’s inner thigh, from his hard cock past the top of the stocking to the thigh cuff. “So _fucking_ good. How is the harness? Still okay? Your legs?”

“What?” Q turns toward James’ face, confused. “What… my legs?”

“Not many people could hold this position so long. Do you need me to lower your ankles?”

“Oh, that. No. It’s… I barely feel the stretch there. All I feel is… is…”

“This?” James asks, stepping up against Q’s arse and letting his own erection push at the toy. He spreads a hand across Q’s belly, and almost imagines he can feel the toy under his skin.

“Yes. And… and _you_.”

James hums approvingly, thrusting against the toy. “Look at them,” James whispers into Q’s ear, waiting as he feels Q’s attention turn outward, to the room, where a crowd of Doms have gathered to watch. “Look how they wish they could have a turn with you.” Q gasps and leans back into James. “Do you like having an audience?”

“I… I like being shown off.”

“Hmmm. I like how you seem to forget they’re even there, and then startle when you realize it again. I like your little shivers of pleasure.” Q trembles as James whispers into his ear. “I like the way they stroke themselves and watch and wonder what I’m going to do to you next. Do you know what I’m going to do next?”

Q shakes his head and leans back against James’ shoulder, surrendering.

James holds up a remote for the audience to see and flicks the control to the lowest setting.

“Oh god, oh god…” Q nearly jumps out of his skin, but then keens and writhes against his restraints.

“Shhh. I’ve got you,” James says, pulling Q back against him to ground him. “You can take it.”

Q whimpers and nods. The vibration isn’t much, really. It’d probably barely be noticeable in a smaller toy.

“That’s a good lad. Deep breath. You aren’t going to come yet, are you?”

“No, but best not breathe on my prick for a few moments,” Q gasps, drawing a deep chuckle from James.

“I promise not to touch it at all. I intend to focus on an entirely different part of your anatomy,” James insists, reaching up to Q’s wrist to fondle the blue bracelet.

“Oh, god,” Q breathes.

“Problem?” James asks, almost innocently.

“No, no… it’s…” He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, steadying himself.

“Boring?” James asks, earning a snort of a laugh followed by a whine.

“Oh god, please don’t make me laugh with this inside me,” Q pleads, blowing out another deep breath, trying to regain some control.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” James responds, lips brushing Q’s ear.

The trick to cock and ball torture is a matter of degree. Everyone likes stimulation. Some people like a bit of pain with their pleasure — Q is advertising he’s such with the ‘blue balls’ bracelet, and James’ limited experimentation has verified the fact. But where the line is between pleasurable pain and just plain pain varies widely from person to person. It’s part of why he doesn’t bring this sort of thing to the club: with a partner he’s only going to have once, it’s not worth bothering trying to learn where the line is.

Q has him curious, though.

The ball stretcher he purchased from the shop isn’t particularly hardcore. He has ones at home that have places to hang weights, or screws that apply pressure. This one is basically just a wide, leather cuff that fastens around the base of the bollocks and stretches the skin tight across the balls so it’s more sensitive. It’s not even as tight as a cockring. It won’t prevent Q from coming.

But it will mean that just a bit of extra stimulation will radically change Q’s experience. James fastens it in place, noting the way Q’s breath hitches in anticipation. He also notices that their audience has grown.

He dons a rough-textured glove that could be used for scrubbing pans and shows it to Q.

“Fuck,” he mutters, tossing his head back for a moment as if preparing himself and then nodding. James could make him say ‘green’ but it seems implied as Q blows out another breath, bracing himself.

James stands behind Q, chin practically on his shoulder, and looks down Q’s torso to his hard cock. He’s all taut lines and anticipation. Submitting, but not surrendering.

Yet.

James cranks the remote up another level, sending Q into a keening arch against the restraints. And then he begins.

Q’s reaction is gorgeous. He’s panting and squirming against the restraints, moaning as James handles him a bit more roughly. The nice thing about the glove is it’s so flexible. James can adjust his grip, the degree to which he scratches the rough fabric across Q’s sensitive skin in response to Q’s reactions. Push his limits without surpassing them. And whenever he seems to find Q’s line — when the sounds Q makes shift from clearly erotic to something more pained — James turns up the toy, and the line resets, and James is free to explore again.

By the third time, though, Q may actually be at his limit. Q groans as the toy is turned up again, trembling and rocking his head back and forth. James steps up closer behind him, a hand splayed across Q’s belly so he can feel it quake as Q clenches around the toy, sending more shivers through his body. James holds him close and reaches his gloved hand around his front to cup his bollocks. Q’s gasp sounds more like a sob, this time. James might be worried that he was pushing too far — past the point that the pain is pleasurable and into the space where Q might say ‘amber’ — if Q weren’t still achingly hard and dripping on the floor.

“I’ve got you,” James assures him. “You’re doing marvelously.”

“I can’t… I can’t hold back much longer,” Q confesses, arching back against James’ shoulder. “I’m… I’m… oh fuck… too close.”

“Oh, pet… I don’t want you to hold back,” James whispers, rolling Q’s balls between his gloved fingers as Q grunts. “I want you to _howl_. I want you to quake and cry out and make a mess of the floor. I want you to show them,” he nods at the crowd watching intently, “how I can make you come without even touching your cock. Just look at them,” he says, focusing Q’s attention on the crowd. Most aren’t just watching at this point. Many of the Doms have subs kneeling in front of them, sucking them off as they admire Q’s writhing form. “Why should they get to come when you’re the one being so good? Let go for me, love. That’s it,” he encourages as he feels Q’s balls draw up.

_Christ, _it’s amazing to imagine Q can even come in this position — legs splayed and stretched wide — but now that he has permission, he’s rocking almost violently against the restraints, crying out, thrashing against James’ chest… until finally, _finally,_ he stills, cries out, and comes.

James feels Q’s whole body tense up, feels the pulsing of his cock as he splashes come across the floor, feels the muscles of his stomach quiver and tighten and then…

And then Q collapses back, head resting against James’ shoulder, body hanging limply against the leather restraints. And in the quiet that follows, before approval of the room erupts or James can make any move toward what comes next, Q turns his face toward James’ cheek and sighs, “James.”

And as much as James likes hearing Q call him “Sir”, that breathy little version of his name nearly undoes him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's been so long for this update... I was traveling for work, and normally that means I can write in the evenings, but this time it just really wiped me out.
> 
> I have completely scoped (though not written) the rest of the story, and it's two chapters after this (pretty sure... this is me, though, so no guarantees). 
> 
> I also have the next story (probably last) in this series mostly plotted out as well. So even though the writing has been slow, other fic-related work has been progressing.
> 
> And in case you've forgotten where we left off, Q is suspended with his legs spread in one of the alcoves, and he's thoroughly wrecked.
> 
> (oh, and happy 49th of October!)

There is an assistant in the corner of the alcove before James can even wish for him. James nods, and the man dims the alcove lights and draws a curtain across the archway to the room, affording them some privacy.

James quickly unfastens the pressure crimps holding Q’s ankles up, and once they’re dangling, lowers the suspension hooks and helps Q gain his feet.

“Easy, there. You good? Can you stand?”

Q seems unsteady, but nods, eyes drifting half shut. James decides to leave his hands shackled to the suspension hook for the moment, so Q can lean on them as James looks him over. James unfastens the cables connecting Q’s harness to the suspension gear and then starts to unbuckle the straps of the harness itself.

At that, Q’s eyes fly open. “No.”

James freezes. “What?”

Q shakes his head, struggling for words. “Please. I… just leave it on? It helps… I like to stay in subspace, and…”

“Q… _Kerr_...pet. I need to check your skin for abrasions.” Q seems unconvinced, so James threads his fingers through Q’s curls and continues, “You’re wearing my collar. You still have my toy up your arse. I assure you, I intend to keep you in subspace all evening.”

“Oh,” Q tilts his head, feeling the thick leather of the collar. “Right.”

“I’m going to take care of you,” James promises, gripping Q’s hair a bit tighter.

Q sighs and lets his eyes drift closed, nodding. “Okay… yes, Sir.”

“Good lad,” James praises, dropping a kiss on his brow.

He removes the harness, folding it carefully and placing it on the cart. The cables he hands to the assistant, who winds them carefully as James removes a new bottle of salve from his bag and returns to Q. Looking over Q’s chest and back, James is pleased. No marks at all. His arse is a different story. The thigh cuffs were fine — a bit of redness but nothing lasting — but where the narrower straps of the harness supported Q’s arse…

“You’re going to have a bit of bruising here,” he tells Q, tracing a finger over the line crossing under Q’s bum. “No abrasion, but you’ll probably feel it sitting for a day or two.”

To his surprise, Q shivers and murmurs, “Perfect.”

James huffs a laugh, opening the bottle. “Legs apart,” he says.

Q’s bollocks are red and irritated, but that _was_ rather the point. The skin’s not broken anywhere, though, and that was also the point. James pours some medicated gel on his hand and cups Q’s balls.

Q’s eyes fly open again. “What’s that?” he asks, syllables still a bit slurred but abruptly alert and arching away.

“Lidocaine with a bit of antibiotic, in case you were scratched. I know it’s cold, but you’ll be glad for it. Be good.”

Q holds himself still as James applies the cold gel, sighing as it warms against his skin and the numbing agent removes whatever burn may still be present. He leans heavily against his bound wrists, swinging slightly. “Feels good,” he finally slurs. “Like my bollocks are a bit pissed.”

“They deserve a stiff drink,” James comments kneeling to untie Q’s boots. “You’re mine tonight, and I want these off,” he says before Q can question his actions.

Q just raises an eyebrow and makes a pleased little smile. He tips his head to feel the collar, as if checking that it’s still there. A moment later, James has Q divested of everything but his stockings, his collar, and his wrist cuffs, which James detaches from the overhead hook.

“I’m going to give you one of your rare choices for the evening,” James says, examining the skin under each cuff to make sure it’s not abraded. “Do you want these on or off?”

“On.”

“You don’t want to think about it?”

“On. Sir,” Q says softly.

James looks him up and down, letting his gaze settle both of them. “On it is,” he says mildly, “Stay here.”

“Yes...Sir.” Q sighs happily, allowing his hands to fall to his sides.

James goes to his bag and retrieves two items, whispering instructions to the assistant, who nods and gathers Q’s things and James’ bag, leaving through the curtain.

“Arms out,” James says softly as he approaches Q. The boffin has let his eyes fall shut again and seems a picture of contentment, if a bit unsteady on his feet. James slips a silky dressing gown on him — well _gown_ implies more coverage than this affords, the hem brushing the tops of Q’s stockings. He ties the belt as Q looks down curiously, surprised to find himself covered. James links the wrist cuffs together with a small carabiner, and then holds up a black leather lead and raises an eyebrow.

Q’s eyes widen slightly, but he murmurs, “Green, Sir.”

“We’re heading back into the room,” James says, snapping the lead onto the collar as Q stretches his neck to make room. He stands close, carding his fingers through Q’s damp curls and smoothing them back off his brow. It’s a satisfying sight, Q relaxed and sated and still so submissive. Still so lost inside himself but aware of James. Still so much James’. “Do you need a blindfold to stay in subspace?” James likes being able to see the slightly smeared eyeliner and the focus in Q’s eyes change as he tries to rouse himself, but keeping Q deep in his head is more important.

“No, Sir. The collar… everything really… I’m fine.”

Q’s lips are swollen where he’s bitten at them, and James is again tempted by them. But they need to vacate the alcove. “Come with me,” James says, turning and pulling the lead taut so Q follows.

The cocoon of privacy they shared in the alcove is shattered as they step through the curtains and onto the main floor. The room is raucous, a cacophony of moans and cheers and the slaps of leather and hands. James sees his duffle on the other side of the room, sitting on a small table next to an empty, oversized club chair with a ‘reserved’ sign on it. He leads Q through the crowd, pleased to sense Q staying close to him even without the tug of the lead, almost as if seeking protection from the bombardment of stimulation. There are appreciative looks — both for James and for Q — as they weave their way away from the alcoves and to a quieter part of the room. Everything is still visible here, but the fabric on the walls dampens the echo and makes it possible to actually hear each other.

James removes the ‘reserved’ sign and takes a seat, relaxing back into the leather. “Up here, pet,” he says as Q moves to kneel, helping Q sit sideways across his thighs, curled up against his chest, knees tucked up and face burrowed into James’ neck. “That’s it. You just rest a bit,” he says as Q sighs into his neck. He lets his fingers trace along the silk covering Q’s spine, up to the collar, through the curls at the nape of Q’s neck and back down again as he relaxes after a satisfying scene. Doms are lounging in the other chairs in this grouping, also clearly post-scene. Most have a wrecked-looking sub kneeling beside them, head resting on their knee where they can pet them absently. One has a sub draped across his lap, where he’s idly reaching a hand under her skirt and fondling her arse. There’s an air of satisfaction amongst the little group as they sip their drinks.

A server dressed as a Roman slave comes bearing a tumbler of scotch and a tall glass of water with a straw. James nods to the table as the server tries to hand him the scotch and accepts the water instead, whispering, “Drink,” as he holds the straw up to Q’s lips. Q downs most of the glass, humming gratefully as he settles against James' chest again.

James tips the tumbler of scotch, admiring the color. As he takes his first sip, one of the other Doms says “You certainly put him through his paces,” nodding at Q and raising his own glass to salute Bond.

“And he took everything beautifully,” James praises, fingering the skin above Q’s collar, feeling Q sigh again against his neck.

“He did,” the Dom agrees, smiling at Q’s languid form. “Yes, and you, too, pet,” he assures the sub draped across his lap. “You naughty thing, probably already getting wet again.” He dips a hand between her legs and under her skirt. “So needy,” he admonishes, but he sounds pleased, and James chuckles into his drink.

He feels… settled in a way he hasn’t since he returned. Pleased. Proud to have their scene praised and even more so to have Q still settled on his lap, blissed out and trusting. He doesn’t normally do this. He normally provides aftercare and then sends the sub on his or her way. He doesn’t like pretending there’s more to it than there is. But this is different. His cock twitches as he remembers the way Q surrendered, head thrown back against James’ shoulder. That satisfies something deep and primal in James that goes well beyond sexual sating.

James takes another sip of his drink, savoring the warmth on his tongue as much as the warmth seeping through Q’s robe. The alcoves are all full now, titillating displays visible over the heads of the people seated in the room at tables and arrangements of plush chairs. James doesn’t find any of it as compelling as the man in his lap and what they did together, but he can’t deny the mood of the room has his interest simmering.

“Have you seen him before?” the Dom across from him asks conversationally.

“He’s never caught my attention in quite this way,” James answers, taking another sip, “but I’m very pleased to have found him tonight.” He generally likes these moments of camaraderie with other Doms. It’s almost like talking with other agents. There’s a consistency in the job description that breaks through the anonymity and allows for convivial ‘shop talk’ with just the right amount of competition in the companionship. And most subs actually like being objectified when subbing, so discussing their attributes with other Doms isn’t discouraged.

“And it doesn’t look like you’re letting him go, or sharing,” an older Dom comments, joining their little group. James has seen this one before. A bit of a sadist. James doesn’t enjoy watching him work.

James' fingers tighten against Q’s neck, possessively. “Not tonight,” he says almost sternly and feels Q snuggle against him as if to reassure him he doesn’t want to be shared.

“There are a lot of other lovely subs,” the man notes, nodding to the room.

James just raises an eyebrow, neither denying nor confirming that assessment. His mind is already wandering to other things he wants to do with Q. Things that require furniture on the basement level of the club. Things that would require quite a bit more prep and much more negotiation. Things he should _not_ be thinking about yet, when they haven’t even finished the evening, much less had time to think about the possibilities or consequences… but Q is so damned tempting — so deliciously surprising — it’s hard to keep his mind from wandering. He’s getting ahead of himself, though. Q wasn’t wrong when he said this could be complicated between them. It’s just hard to focus on that when Q is warm and trusting on his lap and sex is everywhere. And when Q has proven himself so very adventurous. The prospects feel practically limitless.

Q shifts, surfacing a bit, possibly noticing James’ distraction or not appreciating the comments that James should be looking at other subs. “Shhh,” James soothes him, stroking up and down his spine again. “I’ve got you.”

And Q settles back against his chest. It’s about five minutes later, after a bit more cordial conversation with the other Doms — when the whiskey has warmed not only his tongue but his chest, and the warm weight of Q on his lap has grounded him and maintained his interest — Q shifts again.

“Welcome back, pet,” James says, massaging the skin above Q’s collar.

Q arches into the touch like a cat — and freezes.

“What’s wrong?” James asks.

Q pulls back just a bit… not enough for Bond to see him clearly, but nearly. “You’re hard. We never… oh god, you… didn’t you want… were you not... interested?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” James says, hand heavy on Q’s collar. “Think back, Kerr. I showed you multiple times just how _interested_ I was.”

“Oh. Right.” Q nods, a pleased little smile forming on his lips as he remembers, He shivers slightly, letting his eyes fall closed. James remembers, too. All too well. “But—”

James slides a hand between Q’s knees, stroking the warm skin there. His other hand, still on Q’s collar, pulls him in for a conspiratorial whisper. “Imagine how we looked: you spread wide, laid bare for all to see, panting and moaning as I walked you along the line between pain and pleasure, your balls literally in my hand the entire time.” James’ cock twitches at the memory, and Q’s breath hitches. “There was no bloody way I was stopping just to get off. Not when you were being so perfect, submitting so beautifully to such a unique request, making everyone watching wish they were me. Not when you were wearing my collar and stuffed with my toy, and I knew I’d have you _all evening_... ” He lets his fingers drift higher up Q’s legs, slipping under the black silk of the dressing gown, pleased as Q arches and spreads his legs just a bit to offer James room to do what he will. “Had you forgotten?”

“No, Sir,” Q says, moving his bound wrists out of James’ way as his slides higher, not quite to where a bulge is starting to show again under the silk.

“Good. Because I’m very keen on not letting anyone else forget, either. You look absolutely too delicious — black leather covering your throat, black silk covering so much else. So much of what’s mine,” James whispers against the shell of Q’s ear.

Q shivers almost violently.

“I assure you,” James continues. The fact that I didn’t fuck you when you were suspended and helpless is not a sign that I was in any way displeased or uninterested.”

Q leans back a bit more so he can really look at James. His mouth is slightly open, pupils blown wide. James is sure that he’s convinced him, but then Q moves to get off his lap.

“And where are you going?” James asks with a quiet growl, grasping the lead.

Q freezes. “Not far,” he assures in a soothing voice, as if trying to calm a beast. “I’d like to kneel between your legs, Sir, if I may.”

James raises an eyebrow. “Because?”

Q leans in, licking his lips slowly before answering, “You said my mouth has made you curious.”

_Fucking christ._

James looks at Q’s glistening mouth, stomach clenching behind his naval. How many times has he imagined those lips stretched around his cock? More than he should ever admit. Something primal bubbles up inside him. Nearly preens. He loosens his grip on Q and settles back into his chair, feigning nonchalance. Q, he’s sure, doesn’t buy it, but seems to enjoy the game.

Q’s lips twist into a wry smile — not unlike the first one he ever offered James in the National Gallery — and with a glint in his eye, he slips off James’ lap and drops to his knees...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took forever, and I'm sorry, but I'm finally happy with it. AND the next chapter is completely drafted and just needs editing. So the end of (my) October is in view. Then I'm skipping November and jumping straight into a Xmas fic.
> 
> Many thanks to Dart, who held my hand through rewrites, and Ducky, my steadfast longterm beta, who reassured me I wasn't crazy and found several typos. Trust me, you are all very grateful for their efforts; the story is so much better for them.
> 
> So here we are, on this 63rd day of October... if you'll recall, Q had just dropped to his knees...

Giving good head is an art. A novice — particularly a novice _sub_ eager to please — will go too fast. Try to take too much, too quickly. Make it feel almost like an attack in their eagerness. A pleasurable attack, perhaps, but an attack nonetheless, lacking in the subtlety and nuance that can make the experience sublime.

Q is no novice.

He looks up at James through his lashes, bound wrists resting against one of James’ spread thighs, where James can clearly see the black leather against the pale skin of Q’s wrists. His fingers stretched mere inches from the sizeable bulge in James’ black trousers, clearly eager to explore and please, but waiting.

James likes it, this moment of anticipation. Moment of feeling the imbalance of power so palpably. Feeling desired. With his hands bound together, Q almost looks like he’s praying at James’ feet. James’ cock twitches at the thought of being worshipped.

Q notices James staring at the leather at his wrists, gives him a look that is somehow demure and sly, the little minx. He tilts his head so the wide leather band at his throat is even more visible, resting his temple on James’ leg.

_Christ,_ he’s lovely. And so _good_. He’d stay like this all night if James asked it of him. Despite the fact that James is clearly hard for him, and Q is clearly eager to show off his skills. James fingers the lead clipped to the front of Q’s collar, smoothing out the twists and resting the handle on the arm of the leather club chair. Q is ever watchful, looking for a sign that James wants something from him, which makes the tightening behind James’ navel twist pleasurably in anticipation. Somehow, this feels more intimate than it did when he had Q suspended in the alcove and his bollocks in hand. Perhaps because Q was facing the room, and it was ultimately exhibitionism, whereas now they are facing each other, Q’s eyes — so vibrantly green without the spectacles — steadily looking up to his, making any onlookers fade from James’ perception. He looks like _Q_, despite the remaining makeup and the sweat-damp curls. And how many times has James fantasized about Q kneeling before his cock?

James picks up his scotch with one hand and drapes his other arm on the back of the chair, relaxing back into a comfortable position, spreading his legs a bit more. “Well, go on then, pet.”

Q scoots forward on his knees, clever fingers finally tracing over James’ bulge as James sips his drink and watches. Q unfastens the flies slowly, and James can’t resist a low groan as his erection springs free. He enjoys the control of being a Dom, including the control over himself, but that first moment when he lets a tiny bit slip, gives in to his own need for pleasure, is _lovely_. He watches as Q’s fingers trace the sides of his cock, from the head to the base — where he folds the trousers neatly out of the way — and back up.

_Christ_, the man has clever fingers. James always imagined he would. They explore again, down and then up, thumbs tracing the perineum and pulling the head toward Q’s glistening lips. The moment Q opens his mouth and envelops the head of James’ cock, he almost has to look away. Q’s eyes are steady on James’ face, and it’s almost too much. Too much… emotion, stimulation… James isn’t sure, but he feels it like a spell being woven… something beyond the pleasure of having a talented sub on his knees. Something in those green eyes sees him _too_ well. Strips away his costume and his front and sees everything he lacks. Everything he needs. And James is undone by it in a way that’s almost uncomfortable, until Q takes mercy on James and closes his eyes, groaning around James’ cock in appreciation.

James watches for another moment and then lets his head fall back against the chair, enjoying the slow slide of Q’s mouth as he explores. And ever curious, Q explores _thoroughly_. James sips at his scotch, luxuriating in the sensations, playing at disinterest despite the fact that he knows Q is cataloguing every response. Within minutes Q has learned _exactly_ what James likes best, and is putting the knowledge to excellent use. James tries to hold off his reactions, wanting to make Q work for it, wanting to make this last as long as he can before his own pleasure demands he take control again. He glances at the Dom across the way, who is watching Q as he fondles his own sub.

“Lovely being worshipped like that,” the man says, raising his glass again.

James tilts his glass at the Dom, spreading his legs a bit wider to give Q room to work. Q looks up at James through his lashes, a smirk toying around his cheekbones, clearly thinking he’s getting the upper hand, the little minx.

Well, can’t have that. James reaches into his pocket and flicks the switch on the remote controlling the toy that’s still in Q’s arse. Q groans around his cock as it comes to life.

Q had been thorough and teasing before, but now his ministrations carry an edge of hunger. He looks up at James, lips stretched around James’ cock, all submission.

“Show me what you can take, pet,” James says, pulling gently on the lead.

Q nods, shifting his weight again and changing the angle of his mouth, taking James in deeper, sliding down his shaft and then back up, slowly, teasingly, but each time just a bit deeper than the last. James lets his head fall back again, concentrating on the long wet slide of Q’s mouth. _Christ,_ the man’s got talent. Exactly what he looks for in a sub. On another night, he might just sit up here like a king and let a sub slowly work him over. Worship him, like the other Dom said, and then maybe just stay on his knees for an hour or so, warming James’ cock for as long as he sees fit. But that would be a waste tonight. James wants to learn more about Q, too. He wants to keep the upper hand, show him what sort of Dom he is. How demanding he can be, as well as how generous. So on another upstroke, he turns the vibration up again, and then again, so Q stays as affected as he himself is.

And it works. Q groans and whimpers every single time, closing his eyes for a moment before meeting James’ gaze again and taking him even deeper. He’s struggling for control, but rising to it every time, and James can’t help letting a small “That’s a good lad,” slip out when James finally feels himself bumping against the back of Q’s throat. And _bloody hell,_ either the man has no gag reflex to speak of, or he’s aroused enough to ignore it. The third time James feels himself _right there_ he grips Q’s hair to keep him still. They stare at each other for a long moment, Q frozen and watchful, James panting and nearly bursting with the need to take control.

“Can you take more?” he asks.

Q closes his eyes and nods.

James tosses back the rest of his whiskey and sets the glass down so he can cup Q’s head with both hands. Q’s eyes are shimmering green, pupils blown wide, and so beautifully submissive, James’ gut twists with the complicated joy of dominance. James watches Q’s expression carefully as he rolls his hips forward and back, forward and back, feeling himself enter the narrow channel of Q’s throat and then back out, letting Q gasp for air before pushing in again. This is where he usually loses subs. Very few can do this without sputtering or pulling away. Q is perfect though, even as tears start streaming from the corners of his eyes from the strain. He holds perfectly still, allowing James to fuck his throat.

“My god, look at you take it,” James whispers, wiping Q’s tears away with his thumb as he pushes in even deeper. “That is fucking gorgeous.” James grunts as he pushes in again, feeling Q’s lips nearly at his base. God, with every fantasy he’s ever had of Q kneeling under his desk, has he ever dared to imagine the man could deep-throat? “And you love it, don’t you? You’re hard, I bet. Aching for it like a good little cockslut.”

Q whimpers and then swallows around his cock.

“Fuck,” James exclaims as he tightens his grip on Q’s hair and pulls him all the way off his cock, squeezing himself with one hand to keep from coming. “You are a bloody handful, aren’t you?” he asks a panting and very well-pleased Q. James shakes his head. “Naughty lad. I should come all over your face for that... make you wear it like a badge of honor.”

Q whimpers and looks as though he’d like nothing better.

“Or maybe I should shoot right down your throat and make you choke on it,” James murmurs, voice gravelly and soft as he strokes Q’s jaw with his thumb. He’s tempted… very tempted.

Q shudders and opens his mouth wider, in case James wants to do just that.

“But I took such care preparing your arse, I find I can’t be satisfied with anything else. Put this on me,” he says, reaching into his bag and handing Q a condom.

In his exuberance, Q nearly drops the square foil packet as he tears it open with bound wrists. He rolls the sheath down James’ shaft, smoothing the curled edge at the base and looking up eagerly for more instructions.

“Up you come,” James says, tugging at the lead as he coats the condom with lube. “One foot on either side of me. That’s it, hand on the back of the chair,” James says as Q places a stockinged foot on either side of James’ hips and crouches over his lap. James takes a flannel from the bag and discreetly removes the toy, wrapping it up and putting it in a zippered compartment of his duffel. Lining his cock up with Q’s entrance and holding Q’s lead taut with the other hand, he says, “Now, lower yourself onto me. All the way down. That’s it. Take your time.”

James breaches Q immediately, but he’s bigger than the toy, and Q has to take him in slowly. Q rolls his hips, left to right, back to front, putting on a hell of a show. James keeps the dressing gown out of the way as Q works his way down, watching Q’s face as it shifts between concentration and bliss, eyes closed and teeth worrying his lower lip. James bites his own lip as he tries to keep control over his arousal. James has no idea how long it takes for Q to bottom out, but it’s excruciating and fucking glorious. And when Q’s arse is finally on James’ lap, he lets out a long sigh and opens his eyes, looking at James through his lashes.

“Good lad,” James praises, wrapping an arm around Q’s back and rolling his hips as Q whimpers. “Now, lie back,” James says, pulling his knees together so Q has a surface to recline on. James supports him as he leans back. “And now legs out over the arms of the chair… that’s it. Beautiful.” James traces a hand across the fishnets covering Q’s knee and thigh, up to bare skin, to the hem of the silk robe, where Q’s erection is barely covered. James unties the belt and peels the fabric back on either side, exposing pale skin and a very hard cock. He rolls his hips again, and this time the angle is better; Q moans and shivers in pleasure. “There it is,” James observes. “God, you’re beautiful. And you feel so good.” James runs a hand over Q’s chest and abs possessively as he continues to rock his hips, pulling Q’s arse closer.

Q stretches his bound wrists over his head, stretching his neck against the wide collar, looking more enticing and vulnerable. And so _his_. Christ, Q looks like he’s offering himself up as a sacrifice.

This isn’t going to take long. Q already had James near the edge, and now… he’s fucking _tight_ and still undulating his hips as James thrusts, eyes closed and lost in sensation. But James doesn’t want him lost. He wants him anchored to James’ eyes. He wants Q to _know_ who has him, if only for a while. He rubs a hand over Q’s chest, dragging a fingernail across Q’s nipple and relishing his groan. He reaches all the way up to the collar, fingering the edge where skin meets leather, and lets the lead slip between his fingers nearly to the end.

Then he flicks the end across Q’s nipple.

Q’s eyes fly open. “Oh god, green!” he moans, his cock twitching.

James repeats the action on the other nipple. And then again, the crack of the leather against Q’s chest drawing the attention of the people around them.

“Fucking gorgeous,” James says, pulling Q harder onto his cock and flicking the leather lead again. “So good for me.”

“Please,” Q moans.

James gives him three more cracks of the leather lead and then tosses it away and takes Q’s cock in hand. “Come on, pet,” James urges. “Make a mess all over yourself and milk me.”

James strokes Q through his gasps and moans, pulling his hips down, thrusting up harder and harder until Q cries out, his cock pulsing in James’ hand.

“That’s it… that’s it, love. Oh _Christ_.” Come paints across Q’s belly, and James strokes him through it, even as he feels himself dragged to the edge, thrusting up one last time and stilling as he finally, _finally _comes.

Q goes limp after that, splayed across his lap, hands nearly touching the floor. James keeps just enough of his wits about him to reach for another flannel and wipe Q off, and then pull him up to sitting, straddling James’ lap, still impaled on his cock.

They are both panting, breathing each other’s air in the aftermath, until Q whispers, “James” and leans in to kiss him.

James freezes for a moment, but recovers quickly, wrapping both arms around Q’s back and groaning into the kiss, delving into Q’s mouth, tasting passion and satisfaction and—

Q pulls away abruptly, eyes wide. “Oh, god, I’m sorry,” he stammers. “You… you never said kissing was allowed… Sir.”

“I never said it wasn’t allowed, either,” James counters, pulling Q closer and nipping at his lower lip.

“I know, but—” Q kisses him back, almost reluctantly, pulling away again before James is ready for him to. He rests his brow against James’, shaking his head slightly as if trying to clear it. “I think I need to use the loo.”

“Are you okay?” James asks, stroking his fingers along Q’s spine.

“I’m fine,” Q assures. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

James considers arguing and trying to keep Q with him, but it’s too reasonable a request to fight. He nods and offers Q one more kiss, then unlatches the lead from Q’s collar, removes the carabiner linking Q’s wrists, and holds the condom in places as Q gets his feet under him again and climbs off the chair.

Q offers James an awkward smile as he wraps the black silk tightly around himself and ties the belt as he backs away unsteadily. “I won’t be long,” he claims and turns to walk away with his arms folded in front of him.

James lets his head fall back, feeling the elation he just experienced grow cold and heavy with disappointment. He disposes of the condom and tucks himself away, already missing the feel of Q in his arms. Checking in the direction of the bathrooms, he tidies his equipment and closes the duffel.

Sighing, he picks up his scotch tumbler and glares at it for being empty. He knew when he found Q at the bar and decided not to give him a wide berth that this might get complicated. He just expected to have more of a chance to make his case. A fact he finds particularly vexing now that he knows just exactly how good Q is. How _very_ good he is. How perfect they might be for each other, complications and all.

_I’m fine. I won’t be long_. As the sweat cools on James’ shirt, he debates what to do. Because James is a spy, and he knows a lie when he hears one. And he has plenty of experience in recognizing when a situation has gone _completely_ tits up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to Dart and Ducky for betaing, and to all of you who have commented along the way and kept me energized to write. I appreciate it so much.
> 
> I'm calling this fic finished, but there is obviously some unfinished business between these two. I'm hoping to write the sequel (from Q's POV) in the new year, after a few MI6Cafe challenges. Hopefully, this chapter leaves them in a good enough place that you can feel content for a bit. Thank you so much for reading.
> 
> And now, on this 68th of October, James needs to suss out what's happened...

He can’t bring himself to wait long. James is essentially a man of action. It can get him in trouble. It can lead to this unmoored drifting through life he seems so prone to. But in this case, it feels warranted.

“Do you know what spooked him?” the Dom across from him asks as he stands and shoulders the duffel.

“I have some idea,” James admits. “I’m off to set it right. See you next time.”

“Good man,” the Dom says, waving as his own sub drops to her knees in front of him.

The party is still going strong, all of the alcoves full and most of the bondage rings on the walls in use. The air is ringing with cracks of crops, echoing moans, and the wet slap of fucking over the techno music James has largely been able to ignore when he was focused on Q. Now it all comes rushing into his perception — the costumes are in various stages of removal, the smell of sex and lube — and he feels relief as he retreats to a hallway that leads to the restrooms and quieter, more intimate lounges. He nearly bumps into Q exiting the men’s room.

“Oh,” Q stammers. “I said I would come back.”

“I know,” James assures him, leading him away from the raucousness of the party, down the dim hall. “I just thought we might be more comfortable now somewhere quieter.” He stops in a darkened stretch of hall between wall sconces. It feels… well as intimate as anything is going to feel without actually reserving a private room. He crowds Q against the wall and observes him a moment. Q is fidgety, eyes darting to the sides, breathing irregular. Nothing like the blissed-out sub he had on his lap a while ago.

“You’re not in subspace anymore,” James observes.

Q swallows and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I just… I think the reality of what we were doing hit me all at once and…” He shakes his head again. 

“Don’t apologize,” James commands softly, though he doesn’t have the right to do that anymore. James sighs and Q looks a bit miserable. “Would you like… the collar…”

“Feels confusing,” Q finishes.

“Okay.” He sets the duffel down and cups Q’s face with both hands. “Q.” He waits for the boffin to meet his eyes. “It’s okay.” When Q takes another deep breath and nods, James lets his fingers skim the leather to the buckle and unfasten it as Q cranes his neck. James removes the wide leather strap from Q’s throat and gently rubs the skin beneath with his fingertips, checking for abrasions. 

Q breathes easier with every moment, sighing as James cups his throat with both hands and gently strokes his jaw with his thumbs. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I ruined—”

“You did no such thing,” James assures, continuing to stroke Q’s neck and jaw. In some ways, it feels more intimate than anything they’ve done so far, in part because Q is on his way to being _Q_ again, not some tantalizing sub. Even so, Q seems comforted by the touch, not pulling away as subs sometimes do when they come out of subspace. It’s encouraging enough that James steps closer, moving his face into the crook of Q’s neck, and after a moment feeling Q lean against his. Neither of them is kissing the other’s skin, but James’ lips are pressed into the tender skin that’s been hidden from him, just feeling the thrum of Q’s pulse and the warmth of his skin. After a moment, Q sighs and relaxes back against the wall. 

James pulls his face away from Q’s neck and leans a hand against the wall behind Q, maintaining an illusion of privacy. “Better?” he asks softly, still stroking Q’s neck with one hand. Q nods again, letting out a slow breath. “Good. Now, would you do me the honor of letting me buy you a drink?”

Q looks vaguely confused, so before he can ask, James continues, “I wasn’t able to offer you proper aftercare, and it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to prod you any more than I already have, but I’d still like to know you’re settled before leaving you to your own devices. One drink. That’s all.”

Q offers a small smile. “I’d like that, actually.”

James turns them further from the party.

“Aren’t we going back?” Q asks.

“In there? No. If those vultures see you without a collar, they’ll think they get a turn with you.” He realizes what he’s said as soon as it’s left his mouth, wincing as he turns to seek Q’s reaction.

“I can handle them, you know,” Q says with a huff of laugh.

“I’m sure. But…”

“But you’re protective of your subs,” Q finishes knowingly.

“I am,” James admits. “But you aren’t my sub anymore and I shouldn’t assert myself.” 

Something akin to disappointment darkens Q’s expression. “Right. Of course.”

James stops them, looking at Q intently. “I can put it back on if you want, Q. I’d be _happy_ to. I’m trying to give you what you need here.”

Q looks torn.

“Something tells me it would be a mistake, though,” James says slowly, searching Q’s face. “As much as I hate the idea of any of those Doms thinking they have a chance with you.”

“Why’s that?” Q asks.

“Because I want to talk to you as an equal, and we can’t do that if you’re wearing a collar.”

Surprise flashes in Q’s expression, but he nods and looks pleased.

James leads him to one of the back lounges, steering him with a hand on the back of his neck. Q seems comfortable with the contact, and James is loath to lose it, so he leads him to one of the small leather sofas where they can sit together. Q winces slightly as he sits, and then gives James a conspiratorial grin as he settles onto the leather. Whether he’s sore from the suspension straps or the fucking, James isn’t sure, but he finds he’s pleased that Q will be feeling it for a few days, and even more that Q seems pleased by it as well. 

James sits down, draping an arm across the back of the sofa and tangling his fingers in the curls at the nape of Q’s neck, massaging it. Q leans into the touch as the server arrives.

“Whiskey, neat,” James says. To Q he adds, “Do you want another Manhattan?”

“Actually, whiskey sounds good.”

James holds up two fingers to the server. “What about something to eat? Something sweet, perhaps, to replenish your blood sugar?”

“We have a raspberry trifle or bread and butter pudding,” the server offers.

Q licks his lips, and James quirks an eyebrow at him. 

“The pudding, please.”

“Two?” the server asks.

“Just one,” James responds, and the server nods and leaves them in peace.

Q is still torn; James can see it. He’s comforted by James’ touch on his neck, but not allowing himself to relax. Resisting it, actually. His wrists are no longer bound together, but he’s still holding them together on his lap as though the cuffs were linked, fingers fidgeting. He’s not the confident Quartermaster, nor the confident sub that James first met at the bar, and James doesn’t want to be responsible for all this confusion. And he won’t coerce Q, but they are both here tonight because they are looking for something… a deeper connection than they can usually find in the club, and James wants Q badly enough that he can taste it. More than that, though, he wants Q to be comfortable with him. 

“I have one last command for you, if you’ll hear it,” James says.

“Command?” Q asks raising an eyebrow.

“Request,” James amends as their drinks are served. James hands one over to Q, who cups it in both hands. “I can see that big brain of yours churning over everything.” 

Q huffs a laugh and shakes his head at himself. Not denying it. 

“I just ask that you don’t talk yourself into thinking tonight was a mistake. Tonight was beautiful. You gave me exactly what I needed, and I tried to do the same for you. If you decide it should be the only time, of course that’s your right. I told you when we started that we wouldn’t make any decisions about a contract until we’d both had a few days away from the scene and could think about it with a clear head. But don’t _regret_ tonight. And don’t try to decide tonight. Just enjoy our little nightcap and think about it all when you’ve had some rest.”

“You know me too well,” Q quips, taking a sip of his drink.

“More tonight than yesterday,” James says with a small smile, gently squeezing the back of Q’s neck. “And you can trust me with that, no matter what you decide.”

“What we decide,” Q says, turning more toward James and leaning into the touch.

“What we decide,” James acknowledges, though he knows it isn’t true. If Q wants a contract, he only needs to specify for how long. James has made his decision already, despite the advice he just gave Q. “And I know I can trust you with what you’ve learned about me, as well.”

Q nods almost solemnly and takes another sip, glancing at James’ wrist where the colored bands tell even more. 

The pudding is served, and before Q sets his glass down, James asks, “Would you prefer to feed yourself, or would you like me to feed you?”

Q seems surprised by the question. Tilting his head, he asks, “Which would you prefer?”

“I enjoy aftercare,” James says, shrugging.

In answer, Q turns sideways on the sofa, not climbing up onto James’ lap, but draping his legs across James’ in almost a compromise between a sub’s position and a date’s. James smiles and straightens Q’s robe where it’s fallen open a bit, maintaining his modesty, much to Q’s amusement. 

James picks up the spoon and breaks through the crispy crust of the pudding, scooping a small bite of the soft inside and feeds it to Q, who makes a frankly pornographic sound as it hits his taste buds. 

“Good?” James asks, scooping another morsel, sure to get some of the sticky sauce this time.

“So good,” Q answers before opening his mouth for the next bite. The look he gives James is complicated and makes James wonder if he’s only talking about the dessert.

James really does enjoy aftercare. Even if it’s just the care of the skin and the illusion of closeness afforded by having a blissed-out, nameless sub on his lap. This is something else altogether, the feel of Q’s soft curls against one hand as James feeds him with the other. Q takes it in the spirit it’s offered. He seems to understand that it’s not intended to diminish him — as if he were helpless — but honor him. He leans forward until he’s nearly snuggling James again, allowing James’ arm to rest on his back as his hand massages the nape of Q’s neck. This time, it’s not because Q is exhausted from being worked over. This time, they aren’t playing anymore, and have come to some sort of understanding that they are in new territory that affords a comfortable intimacy. Q watches him throughout, occasionally motioning that James should take a bite. They are sharing something that James can’t quite put his finger on, but he’s enjoying it immensely.

James is disappointed as he reaches the bottom of the bowl, setting the spoon down and leaning back. Q has caramel on the corner of his mouth, and James wipes it with his thumb and holds it up to show Q, who leans forward and licks it off with a gleam in his eye.

James’ cock makes a feeble twitch. “Minx,” he complains with a grin.

Q offers a tired smile, drawing his knees up and leaning his temple against them, face now close enough that James could lean in and kiss him. 

He brushes at Q’s fringe instead. “Better?”

“Hmmm. Ready for a nap, maybe. Well, a shower and then a nap. Or probably just bed. What time is it, I wonder?”

“Well past eleven,” James says, looking at his watch. “Early, but not pathetically so.”

Q huffs a laugh and closes his eyes, not making a move to get up or snuggle closer. Still deciding.

James gently rubs his fingers up and down Q’s spine. Not in a demanding or seductive manner, but he knows if they stay like this, he’ll be drawn in that direction soon enough. Already, the thought of Q showering and lying down for bed makes James practically long to join him, and that’s dangerous. That’s not what Q came here for, and not realistic for James, either.

“Before you fall asleep, I have a proposal,” James says softly.

“What’s that?” Q asks without opening his eyes.

“I won’t contact you for at least three days… maybe longer, depending on work. Think about what you want. Think carefully. When we meet next, if you’ll entertain a contract, come with details — hard limits, desires, needs — anything you can think of. If we do this, I want us to have a solid understanding. You’re too important for anything else.”

Q’s eyes are open now. He bites his lip, contemplating. “You don’t think it would be _mad_? I mean, I know you mix business and pleasure all the time, but--”

“This wouldn’t be that,” James assures. “You aren’t a mark. And I wouldn’t just be taking my pleasure. If we were to get this right, I’d be seeing to your needs, too. I agree it will be tricky. The power dynamics… we’ll need to be clear about who has the upper hand in different situations to avoid confusion and conflict. But I _also_ think we might be the only ones who can understand _this_ and the demands of work. I’m not willing to give up on that potential without giving it some serious consideration.”

Q nods thoughtfully. “Quite sensible,” he says through a yawn.

James reaches for Q’s wrists and unbuckles each cuff, rubbing the tender skin over Q’s pulse. He returns the cuffs to the duffel and slides Q’s colored bands back down to his wrist, straightening them. Memorizing them.

“I suppose I need to give you back the dressing gown as well,” Q sighs.

“Oh, no. That’s yours now. I can’t imagine it on anyone else. In fact, I may have to retire that collar as well.”

Q smiles. Fingering the silk, he says, “I have grown rather fond of it.”

James pulls the robe closed at Q’s chest. “Besides, to leave, you’ll have to walk back through the vultures, and I’d just as soon you do it wearing more than just your fishnet stockings.”

“Protective,” Q murmurs.

“Yes. I’m sorry,” he says ruefully. “If you don’t like it, just tell me to mind my own business.”

“Hmm. I’m not bothered at the moment, actually. Must be sleepy.”

James smiles. “Maybe so. Do you need anything else tonight?”

Q shakes his head. “I think I’m off home.”

“Well, allow me to escort you through the chaos.”

The party feels loud and garish compared to their quiet conversation in the back lounge. James keeps a hand on the back of Q’s neck, just in case any Doms think to do more than look appreciatively as they walk through. The lack of a collar has been noticed, but James shakes his head at the one Dom who looks like he might approach.

The people at the front desk know both Q and James, and they are quick to bring their things. Q pulls his shorts and boots on, tightens the robe and puts on a long wool coat that’s smarter than any outerwear he’s seen Q sport. He looks practically decent when it’s buttoned up, only the dark lipstick and eyeshadow hinting at what might be underneath. James dons his own coat and they step outside into the crisp October air.

“Can I offer you a ride home?” James asks, fishing his car keys from his pocket.

Q shakes his head. “Too tempting. I’d probably invite you up, and then where would we be?”

Something warm flips in James’ stomach. “Where indeed? How will you get home?”

“Milo at the front desk knows to call me a cab. And here it is,” he says nodding to the black car stopped at the light a block away.

James steps closer and cups Q’s cheek with one hand. “Thank you, Q, for a very enlightening and enjoyable evening. No regrets.”

“No regrets,” Q agrees. “And… I’ll be ready. When you want to talk.”

“And I’ll see you Monday.” James sees the cab approaching through the corner of his eye. Hesitating for just a moment, he leans in and kisses the corner of Q’s mouth. “Goodnight, Q.”

He steps back as the cab pulls forward, opening the back passenger door.

Q is staring and looks about to say something, but thinks better of it and climbs into the back of the cab, offering James a little wave. He turns and watches James as the cab pulls away until it disappears around the corner at the next block.

James watches the empty street for a moment, finally allowing the myriad emotions the evening has stirred up to wash over him. The truth is, he’s as confused as Q, but he feels sated in ways he hasn’t felt for a long time. The potential feels so dangerous, like heading out on a mission that could go _spectacularly_ tits up, but could also change his life. It’s terrifying and exhilarating and he almost doesn’t know what to hope for regarding Q’s decision.

Almost.

Big Ben begins to chime in the distance, and James lifts the duffel strap onto his shoulder and starts walking toward his car. The last stroke of October marks a new year, according to the old calendars. James isn’t one for religion or superstition, but it feels appropriate. And for the first time in a long time, he feels hope for the new year.


End file.
